Of Kittens and Ridiculous Coffee-Drinking Habits
by Aliada
Summary: "It's a strange drink," Mitchell complained tiredly, suddenly losing all the bravado. Now, Anders was definitely curious. How many cups did it take for a vampire to become intoxicated enough to take a kitten? That was a question worthy of a thorough research. (written for the GatheringFiKi 12 Days of Christmas (2019) event)


_**A/N:**__ Anders and Mitchell are experimenting with human stuff, with various degrees of success. _

_Anders' POV_

Kittens. Not really his thing. He used to love those bastards as a child, but they were too much like him to evoke any other feeling rather than relatability. He had never actually chased them down the street or brought them home, but there was always a subtle hint of fascination imprinted at the back of his mind when he saw one. Fat or thin, furry or ridiculously naked, they all possessed an undeniable measure of grace leaking, almost rhythmically, through their movements. Like he, they never succumbed to the desires of others. Like his, their desires were their god whom they loyally served. They shouldn't have been surprised to be called disloyal. And they were not surprised, because they never cared about that sort of thing. It was foreign to them, just like mortals' definition of love was foreign to Bragi. They both hunted. They both came out victorious. When they didn't, no well-meaning consolation was needed, Instead, they drank that power from within themselves, and, having drunk enough, restored themselves once again. As a child, Anders admired that quality and wished that he, too, could have it someday. Having acquired it, he understood one simple truth: there was but one step from admiration to the battle of wills.

_Mitchell's POV_

Mitchell used to be unnerved by the cats. It sounded quite ridiculous in retrospect, but these animals never failed to create a sparkle of suspicion in him. They could just be lying down, quietly and unassumingly, and it'd still make his instincts go off with the anticipation of the upcoming disaster. Coupled with the fact that he was born into a superstitious family, that initial predisposition only continued to grow, making its way into his adulthood. Afterwards, when his world ended and then began anew, little had changed in that regard. Almost ironically little, considering that he was now the one who fueled superstitions, leading one from the land of indulgent imagination into the land of shocking reality. There was a bridge between the two, and that was where the cats belonged. Or at least, Mitchell had always thought so. Now, squeezing a living, breathing creature in his arms, he wasn't so sure. Now, that thing seemed more genuine and alive than the majority of humans he had the misfortune of meeting. The kitten fidgeted a bit and produced a lot of meowing noises, which should have been annoying but somehow wasn't. The thing was clearly cold and hungry. Mitchell couldn't help with the second part yet, but he could at the very least share the warmth of his body. Maybe, that would be enough. Maybe, _he_ would be enough. Suddenly, the creature snuggled closer to him, and the meowing turned into rich, almost musical purring. Mitchell tried to ignore the feeling of satisfaction that followed, but it grew relentlessly within him, warming its way to his heart. Finally, the fidgeting quieted down, but the purring never stopped completely. Mitchell turned to look at the cafe's blue lights. That coffee was a strange drink. He was feeling light-headed, and there was a lingering aftertaste in his mouth. Still, he couldn't miss the chance to brag to Anders about it. Anders didn't get to be the only one trying human stuff. In fact, the cat discovery will have to be high up on the list of his achievements this week. Satisfied, Mitchell turned around and continued quickly down the road, into the cacophony of yellow lights that were leaving subtle shadows on the snow. The warmth of the kitten pressed to his chest contrasted with the biting touch of the wind. Feeling positively overstimulated, Mitchell closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. For once, feeling human wasn't an obligation eating away at his mind, but a concrete reality. Mitchell smiled.

_Anders' POV_

Dawn had a kitten. Or a cat. Or didn't she? He wasn't entirely sure, and that was a clear sign of his complete, utter disinterest in these creatures. So why was Mitchell holding one now as if it was his child? Anders cringed at the involuntarioy evoked imagery and stepped back, farther away from The Thing. Now that he thought of it, a murderous Mitchell wasn't all that bad. At least, he was much preferable to this unexpected mushy version Anders had been getting lately. At first, it had been random touching (and definitely not in the way Anders prefered), then it was followed by the even more obnoxious oversharing, and finally this? The kitten. Did Mitchell think he'd adopt him? He could barely look after himself. Dawn could, though. So, why don't they just–?

"No, we are not giving him to anyone else," Mitchell whispered, fervently, and something in his gaze made Anders pause.

Apparently, Dawn was off limits. And so was any help capable of freeing him from that little havoc-wreaking monster.

Anders looked at Mitchell again and realized that the kitten seemed to have gained a similarity to his owner. Or was Mitchell the one doing a trick on him?

Anders sighed and gestured for him, for _them_, to come in.

"Want some coffee?"

Mitchell's eyes widened and he nearly dropped the cat.

Anders had to admit that it was unusual of him to offer people coffee, but since Mitchell never drank it anyway it seemed like a nice payback for thrusting a cat on him.

Mitchell narrowed his eyes, and suddenly his face lit up with a smile.

"Yes, please."

Anders just stared at him, momentarily confused.

"You never drink coffee."

Mitchell shrugged, and his smile turned smug.

"Well, today I do. Following your worthy example."

Anders supressed a groan. In fact, neither of them was supposed to drink it. He was a god, and gods were supposed to drink… actually, he was not sure what exactly, but it certainly wasn't coffee. And Mitchell could never be satisfied by any human-made substance anyway. Unless it was blood, that is. Mitchell didn't seem to appreciate his joke, though. The first time, he frowned, and the second time he threatened to make Anders sorry if he mentioned that again. Anders had no idea what that involved, but it sounded promising. Maybe he _would_ mention that again, after all. Now, Mitchell was sipping his coffee and petting the cat who was currently… sniffing his counter.

"No," Anders said, keeping his voice authoritative.

Mitchell chuckled, his expression almost gleeful. For someone who had never drunk coffee he seemed to enjoy it a hell of a lot.

"The cat can't understand you. Well, unless your god powers extend to influencing animals, but somehow, I doubt that."

Anders snorted at him and removed the offensive creature from the (rather expensive) surface. No furniture of his would be spoiled by cat scratches. Not when there were much more creative and memorable ways.

"Watch your mouth, Anders, he's just a kid!"

Apparently, he'd said the last one out loud. Somehow, his control never lingered long enough around Mitchell - something Mitchell no doubt enjoyed.

Anders faked indignation.

"You said it can't understand me."

Something flickered in Mitchell's gaze. Something deep, compelling, and hungry.

"But I can, Anders. And he is not an 'it'. Show a little respect."

Anders took a drink of his coffee and stared wordlessly in the increasingly darkening eyes. Mitchell took a sip of his own, never breaking the eye contact.

"Why should I show respect to someone who was forced on me?"

It was mostly a pointless question, but Anders had to ask it. The truth was far more simple: Mitchell could bring a dead body to his apartment, and he still wouldn't find it in himself to kick him out. They both knew that, but Anders was relieved that Mitchell never actually tried to prove that hypothesis.

Clearly bored of the floor inspection, the kitten made his way to the bed.

Anders groaned, decided to ignore Mitchell's satisfied smirk, and took one more drink of his coffee. Which was surprisingly… bitter? He cursed and nearly sent the cup flying down.

"It tastes like medicine, and not a good kind," he complained.

Before he could protest, Mitchell took his cup away and made a ridiculously pleased face when the liquid touched his tastebuds.

"What happened, Anders? Can't hold your liquor? It's just a little human drink."

Anders might have felt annoyed at that, but the teasing was somewhat spoiled by the fact that Mitchell's breath was coming out in shallow hitches and his eyes were slightly unfocused.

Anders chuckled, his hand instantly finding Mitchell's pulse. Him, unable to hold his liquor? He was definitely _not_ losing that bet. Mitchell tried to escape, and Anders pressed down harder, calmly enduring the sullen scowl directed his way. Just as he thought, Mitchell's heart was racing as if he' d been running for two hours straight, and it was a peculiar thing to have happened to a vampire, if Anders had anything to say about that.

"No, shut up," Mitchell said. Anders just smiled at him, figuring his expression was eloquent enough.

The pleasure of winning still held him captive, he decided. And he had no intention of regretting that.

"It's a strange drink," Mitchell complained tiredly, suddenly losing all the bravado.

"How many did you take?"

Now, he was definitely curious. How many cups did it take for a vampire to become intoxicated enough to take a kitten? That was a question worthy of a thorough research.

"I don't know. I kind of lost count after the tenth."

Anders whistled, reluctantly impressed.

"All of them bitter?"

Mitchell groaned, and Anders felt himself relent. It was no fun tormenting Mitchell when he was already down, both physically and emotionally.

"Okay, just go sit here for a bit. Your hellish creature is in a need of attention."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, if he's anything like you…"

Having caught the hand, undeniably ready to slap hom, Anders led a weakly protesting Mitchell to the bed and alerted the kitten to his presence. The kitten opened one sleepily looking eye and moved graciously to his owner, somehow managing to look independent while doing that. Anders snorted and tried to leave them to their business. Alas, it was one of his rare unsuccessful attempts, which somehow ended up with him snuggled to Mitchell and, even worse, with the cat lying on top of him. "They look so deceptively innocent when they sleep" was Anders' last thought before it was his turn to fall into a blissful unconsciousness in which there were no adorably-looking cats and tempting Mitchells who threatened to take away his self control. Somehow, it turned out to be one of the most boring dreams he'd ever had. He supposed, there was no great victory without a great challenge. And Anders was fully prepared, even if Mitchell and the cat didn't think so


End file.
